The Ice Queen and His Only Man
by Hippety-Hoppety
Summary: Mycroft is not good with emotions and is therefore confused after Greg has left him. Every other chapter is set in the present and every second chapter is a flashback at their lives and their relationship together. Both in Greg's and Mycroft's POV.
1. Believe Me When I Beg You

**Chapter 1 - Believe Me When I Beg You**

_Believe me when I beg you_

_Don't ever leave me alone._

_- Oh! Darling, The Beatles_

* * *

'Good luck sir.'

Anthea gave her boss an encouraging nod and looked up at him from her mobile as Mycroft Holmes stepped out of the black car with darkened window.

_I am without any doubt going to need it_ he thought as he looked up at the rundown apartment building in front of him as the car drove away along the gloomy street somewhere in the south of London. A few yards from him a group of young teenage boys peered at him as he made his way to the door of the building. One of them made a snide comment about him, somewhere along the lines of "posh aristocrats should stay at their clubs…" and Mycroft gave him a disapproving gaze while he pressed one of the bells next to the entrance.

'Hello.'

Mycroft's heart almost skipped a beat when he heard the raspy muted voice and he exhaled a little louder than he had hoped before he answered.

'It… It's me. I thought we needed to talk.'

He didn't get a response but the lock of the door gave a small buzz after what seemed to Mycroft like an eternity. He opened it and was just entering the building when one of the boys of the group made another comment, this time suggesting where Mycroft and his "dressed-up bureaucratic mates that destroys the country" should stick up their umbrellas. Mycroft was just going to answer the young man but then he changed his mind.

He had more important matters to take care of.

* * *

Gregory Lestrade groaned very loudly when he found that the cover of his original _Abbey Road_ vinyl record had a small scratch on it, just under Paul McCartney's unclothed left foot. John had been very kind and fetched his rather massive record collection, but due to both his and Greg's unpredictable working hours, Greg's precious records, carelessly packed in a handful of cardboard boxes, had been forced to spend a night at the battlefield that was 221B at the moment. Sherlock had been on his way to examine the damage on the left side of one of the boxes caused by a fall from a two-story building ("The information is vital for the case of the Danish ambassador John!") but fortunately his flatmate had stopped him in time. However, Sherlock had managed, and Greg was sure this was on purpose, to drop one of the boxes containing his beloved Beatles records when he was trying to help John and Greg to move the cardboard boxes into a taxi to take the records to Greg's new apartment.

But he couldn't be bothered about the scratch now – he had just come home after working for nineteen hours in a row and just wanted to listen to a few good tracks while making a late dinner, so he ignored it and put on the A side, jumping over the first few tracks to one of the songs that he appreciated the most – _Oh! Darling_.

To the sound of McCartney's pleading voice he turned to the refrigerator and took out some leftovers and a can of coke. He had just sat down by the small second hand table and opened up the can when the weary sound of the doorbell rang out.

_If that damned gang of teenage chaps are trying to make me buy cigarettes for them again, I will throw _them _out of a window, _he thought while slowly moving to the old phone by the apartment's front door.

'Hello.'

He heard the trembling sound of someone exhaling, and then the even more trembling voice of the older Holmes brother.

'It… It's me. I thought we needed to talk.'

Greg was taken by surprise and wasn't sure how to react. He wasn't really in the mood for a long demanding conversation, but then realised that this moment was just as good as any, and therefore he pressed the buttoned that opened the main door of the building.

He couldn't make himself move, so he remained on the same spot until he heard a soft knock on the door a few inches away from him. Greg took a deep breath and then opened it, and found Mycroft, in an expensive-looking cashmere coat and with an umbrella in his hand, in front of him.

They didn't say anything for a few minutes. Mycroft did his best trying to get eye contact with the detective inspector but Greg stared absently at a stain on the doormat. Mycroft was the one to first break the empty silence.

'I am very much aware of that you do not wish to speak to me but-'

'Why are you here then?'

Greg interrupted him angrily and turned around heading for the shabby sofa in the living room.

'Because I don't understand, Gregory.'

Greg looked up at the government official. He had noticed the quivering in Mycroft's voice and saw that he watched him carefully from the doorstep.

'Oh, look how the mighty have fallen' he snorted back, but then eased up a bit and gestured Mycroft to come in.

'I don't understand why you have…' Greg saw how much Mycroft considered his choice of words before he finished the sentence, 'left me.'

The detective inspector sighed and then said: 'Because I'm tired of waiting.'

'I…' once again Mycroft stumbled on his words, 'Please explain this for me Gregory.'

'I'm not Gregory to you anymore, I'm detective inspector Lestrade.'

Mycroft flinched as if someone had hit him when Greg uttered these words. He looked down on his former boyfriend and saw the cool indifference in his eyes.


	2. Life Is A Minestrone

**Chapter 2 – Life Is A Minestrone**

_Life is a minestrone, served up with parmesan cheese._

_Death is a cold lasagne, suspended in deep freeze._

_- Life Is A Minestrone, 10cc_

* * *

_About two years earlier – late May, 2009_

Greg walked along Great George Street and stopped outside the really elegant and classy restaurant _Roux at Parliament Square_. Mycroft had offered to send a car for him, but he had decided that it would be for the best if he could have a few moments to himself before going on a date, _because you know it's a date Greg_, with who was, at least according to the inhabitants of 221B Baker Street, the British Government. Greg was not really that concerned about that part, it was the fact that the older Holmes brother looked so unceasingly dashing whenever they met that worried him.

The summer had arrived early and the weather was pleasantly warm and it hadn't rained during the last couple of days. He pulled a hand through his grey hair (for what must have been the twentieth time just since he left the Yard) and then stepped into the restaurant where he was greeted by a well-groomed waiter who took his coat and then showed him into one of the more private rooms without saying a single word.

At one of the tables clad in table clothes that were even whiter than snow, sat Mycroft Holmes, who was dressed in an exquisite dark blue three piece suit with an accompanying discreetly striped tie. He looked at Gregory and smiled at him shyly as the detective inspector sat down in the chair opposite to him.

'I'm sorry that I'm late, but I had to or prevent World War III. Your brother decided that it was a good time to pick a fight with Anderson concerning his skills, or according to Sherlock, his lack of them, as a forensic scientist when I was just about to leave.'

Greg smiled at the government official who nodded back at him and said:

'Sherlock can sometimes be a, how shall put it…'

'Right pain in the arse?' said Greg jokingly and started to read his leather-bound menu.

'I was going to say childish twelve year-old who doesn't know when to shut his mouth, but your suggestion works too. Have you decided what you want to eat?'

'To be honest, I don't understand the menu.' Greg said and looked embarrassed down the napkin lying on the table in front of him. 'You should have told me that we were going here so I could have chosen some more fitting clothes and so I could have practised my incredibly bad French. I thought that we were going somewhere more domestic, like a fish and chips shop or something…'

To be honest, Greg hadn't imagined going somewhere domestic, this was after all Mycroft Holmes, but he had at least hoped for it. Mycroft smiled at his statement, that kind of genuine smile which Greg just had witnessed an easy countable number of times on the government official's face.

'No worries detective inspector, shall I order for the both of us?'

'That would be great. And you can call me by my first name if you want to, all my friends do.'

It was clear to see that Mycroft was a bit taken by surprise by his words, but that moment didn't last for too long.

'Very well then. How about the minestrone as starter, Gregory?'

Mycroft said his name slower than he needed to, like it was a word from an extraneous foreign language, and Greg felt his cheeks turn red. _Put yourself together; don't behave like an enamoured teenager who doesn't know how to behave in public_, he thought to himself and then gathered enough calm to respond.

'Only my grandmother calls me Gregory.'

'Not anymore.' Mycroft looked at him from across the table, and Greg was prepared to bet his right arm on that there was something teasing and priggish about the smile Mycroft gave him.

'If you do not want the minestrone I am sure that they could make some _poisson et frites_ for you…'


	3. Problems That You Made In Your Own Head

**Chapter 3 - Problems That You Made In Your Own Head**

_But it was not your fault but mine._

_And it was your heart on the line._

_I really fucked it up this time._

_Didn't I, my dear?_

_- Little Lion Man, Mumford And Sons_

* * *

'Sorry, that was harsh.'

Mycroft couldn't bear to look his former boyfriend in his eyes. He felt more insecure and uncertain than he had ever done in his whole life; including the first time he had told Greg that he loved him. That had been a nice and tender moment, especially since Greg had told him that he loved him too. It felt like that precious event had taken place hundreds of years ago, when it actually just was a little over a year since it had happened. _Concentrate. You might to be able to fix this somehow._

Greg spoke again:

'Mycroft.' Greg made a point of carefully say his name. 'I'm tired of waiting, it always feels as if I'm waiting for you. You can on a few seconds notice leave for China to prevent a nuclear war or have secret meetings with the prime minister at unearthly hours to save England's economy. I understand that these are things you have to do; it's just that I don't like having to wait for two weeks to be able to speak with my boyfriend. And when I actually get the chance to talk to you on the phone or by text, you're very secretive and laconic.'

'You know that I cannot tell you anything about my work, or where I am.' Mycroft's respond was very uncomprehending. He tapped an unsteady rhythm on the handle of his umbrella, but then suddenly stopped and looked out of the window. It was quite dark outside at the moment, and it looked as if it was going to start raining any second.

'It's not just that. I'm getting a bit tired of the whole mysterious thing. I don't appreciate being picked up by black cars taking me to some completely random location. I don't know what you're trying to achieve with that. Before I actually met you I thought John was exaggerating when he talked about "Sherlock's older brother with his annoying power complex".'

The government official frowned and Greg saw that his brain was working at maximal capacity.

'Or the fact that we've been together for almost two years and that we still haven't slept together. I don't want to stress you, because I know that you find those things… _Difficult_ to deal with, but I'm growing tired, Mycroft.'

'I just do not know how to act around you, or what you want me to do. I did not think that you would be interested in my life, because I do not live a very exciting or thrilling one.'

'No, maybe not, but it's _your _life, and that's why I want to know about it.' Greg smiled for the first time for over a month at Mycroft. _And maybe, but just maybe, there's a small, extremely tiny chance that he might actually forgive me, _Mycroft thought while looking at the gentle face in front of him.

'It's just that this is so very new and difficult for me, Gregory. I am trying, by God I am trying, to get this right and I have always tried to get this to work out for the best.' Mycroft cleared his throat and then swallowed hard. He couldn't bear to look at Greg sitting on the sofa in front of him, so he turned around and looked out of the dirty window, trying very hard not to cry.

'Oh, don't look away Mycroft, that's also one of the contributing factors to why we ended up here in the first place.' Greg stood up and walked up to Mycroft, who by those words started to cry silently. The detective inspector put his right hand on his former boyfriend's shoulder, but Mycroft still couldn't look the other man in the eyes, so he just kept on staring out of the window at the dim light from the lampposts on the street.

'Look at me Myc, come on look at me,' Greg said tentatively, trying to meet the other man's gaze. 'We'll fix this; at least we'll try, okay?'

Mycroft inhaled sharply and nodded. 'Are you sure you want to? When you left our-_my_ apartment the other day you said you did not want to speak with me ever again.'

'And yet here we are.' Greg smiled gently at him and led him to the small worn sofa where they both sat down.

The government official pulled out a neat handkerchief from an inside pocket of his suit jacket and blew his nose with it. Then he suddenly had his serious face on again, but he still sounded quite insecure when he began to speak.

'But what caused your sudden departure? You did not really give me some kind of a warning…'

'What do you think, Mycroft? You're the smartest man I've ever met and still you can't understand these things.'

'I am sorry Gregory.' Mycroft looked uneasily at his former boyfriend who sat next to him. Then he concentrated very hard for a few moments, and then turned his whole body towards Greg. 'Was it because…' he closed his eyes and looked very puzzled as he continued '_I _left _you _that night, when your… when your mother had died?'

This time it was Greg's turn to not look the other man in the eyes, so he just, almost unnoticeably, nodded.


	4. I Know It's Over

**Chapter 4 – I Know It's Over**

_It's so easy to laugh, it's so easy to hate._

_It takes strength to be gentle and kind._

_- I Know It's Over, The Smiths_

* * *

_Eleven days earlier_

Mycroft stepped out of the black car and took a quick look at his pocket watch. _22.43, Gregory should be home by now._

He stopped on the doorstep to the Georgian house, that he and Gregory called their home, because he felt an unfamiliar feeling that he hadn't experienced for many days, if not weeks, and he was not quite sure of what feeling it was. Things had worked out smoothly at the day's meetings and he had been able to leave work a little earlier than expected. He and Gregory had talked a few days earlier about visiting an art gallery that was opening the following day, and then they were going to have some fish and chips, because Gregory had insisted on it. If Mycroft could remember it correctly, and to be honest, he always remembered things correctly, Gregory had said:

_'If we are going to look at some old paintings of naked women sitting by lakes for two hours, you have to at least promise me that we have some proper food afterwards.'_

_'Well, to be frank with you Gregory, these paintings actually depict naked _men_ sitting by lakes, and they are actually fairly new…'_

_'Well, I'm still having fish and chips afterwards, even if they are men!'_

Mycroft smiled widely to himself. And that was when he realised it. _I am actually happy. Is this what happiness feels like?_

He was almost always happy and content when he was with Gregory, but he had never really felt that fortunate when he had been at work, or alone. This was a new kind of happiness. Mycroft mused about that as he was slowly walking up the stairs of the apartment building.

_All these factors of joy must mean lead to one thing – I am just really content about life in its entirety. That it is the only possible solution._

He finally reached the end of the staircase, and he was still wearing what he usually would call a "stupid grin" on his face as he took out his keys and opened the robust oak door.

Mycroft was met by the melancholy sound of The Smiths as he entered the front door.

_Oh mother I can the feel the soil falling over my head…_

'Gregory! I've had the most wonderful realization! I am actually truly happy!'

The words just came out of his mouth like it was the uttermost natural thing, as if he actually everyday screamed out his feelings.

'With you, with work, with the blasted pigeons, even with your bloody fish and chips!'

_Loud, loutish lover, treat her kindly…_

'Gregory, do you hear me? Shall we go at and have some dinner? I know it's late, but I know a fine Italian restaurant close to Leicester Square that is open for at least another three hours…'

_I know it's over, and it never really began…_

'Gregory? Are you home? Gregory!'

Mycroft took of his overcoat and left his favourite brolly in the umbrella stand. He took a few seconds in front of the mirror to put his already impeccable hair in place and then walked out of the hall towards the living room.

_With your triumphs and your charms, while they're in each other's arms…_

'Or do you have other pla- oh dear, Gregory what is the matter?'

Greg sat in one of the old-fashioned armchairs of the tree piece suite, head in hands. He looked up as Mycroft entered the room, eyes red and slightly swollen. He was wearing a wrinkled shirt, and Mycroft saw that he had thrown his even more wrinkled suit jacket on the sofa.

'My mother, she's… she's dead.'

Mycroft stopped suddenly on his way to his boyfriend. His mind suddenly went completely blank. The happiness he had felt a just few seconds earlier was completely gone and was not replaced by something as understandable as sadness or compassion, but with confusion and absolute panic.

Greg continued:

'She got hit by a car. I was going to meet my father after he called and told me about it, but he told me not to come. He'll be here in a minute; he just has to go through all the st- Mycroft?'

The government official didn't move from the spot where he stood. A few seconds passed, and then he said:

'I… I just have to…'

And then he turned around and walked out of the room.

'Mycroft? Where, where are you going?'

Greg stood up and moved towards the door, but Mycroft had already done what he always did when he felt threatened by his feelings – he had run away.


	5. You're Open To The Truth

**Chapter 5 - You're Open To The Truth**

_I can't relate to the never ending games that you play._

_- The Last Shadow Puppets_

* * *

'I am very sorry for what happened that night. I just cannot understand why I cannot handle my emotions properly. Feelings have always been very problematic for me.'

Mycroft's breathing became more strained after he had spoken the last sentence. He looked up at Greg, who this time meet his gaze and smiled sadly at him.

'I know Mycroft.'

_Why does he have to look so damn vulnerable? _Greg thought while looking at the pale government official next to him on the sofa. _I'm supposed to be angry with him, but now I've started to feel bad for him. _Mycroft now straightened up and leant against the backrest, his hand in a tight grip on the handle of his umbrella. Greg could bet his right arm on that his former boyfriend flexed every single muscle in his face in attempt to prevent himself from starting to cry again.

_We'll fix this._

'It's quite late… If you like to you can sleep here tonight, and then we can continue to discuss this in the morning.'

Greg could see that started to Mycroft loosen up a bit, and then he look up with apparent relieve in his face.

'Do you want me to? Really?'

"Yes, I'll just get some sheets and you can borrow some of my pyjamas; you can sleep on the sofa."

Mycroft lifted one of his hands and moved it towards Greg's, very hesitantly, but when Greg didn't pull away, he placed it on the detective inspector's right hand.

'Thank you. For not letting this go, and for not giving up on me. Or in us.'

Greg was slightly surprised by the touch, and even though it felt as if his own feelings betrayed him, he couldn't help but feel that familiar little spark in his stomach that always occurred when Mycroft touched him. _How is he still able to make me melt completely just by touching me? And Mycroft thinks he's the one who can't understand his emotions…_

The detective inspector made his mind up and smiled neutrally, and then pressed his former boyfriend's hand.

'We'll fix this Mycroft, whatever the outcome might be, we'll at least sort it out.'


	6. Parklife

**Chapter 6 – Parklife**

_All the people, so many people_

_They all go hand in hand,_

_hand in hand through their parklife._

_- Parklife, Blur_

* * *

_Early May, 2009_

The sun was shining down at St. James's Park and Greg was sweating heavily as he ran through an alley of trees. There were families and couples spread around the lawns, enjoying the warm and very much longed for spring weather. Greg took out his MP3 player and somehow managed to change to start the playlist he used for such occasions as this.

_I need to exercise more; I'm getting completely out of training._ He felt as if his lungs were exploding -he hadn't had time lately to go for a run, and he was, as he bitterly thought to himself, actually getting older.

He had had a lot to do with work during the last few weeks, two serial killers since the middle of March and the reorganisation of the of the whole Yard's mobile phone system had kept him busy day and night. Sherlock and Dr Watson had helped out (well, when you say helped…) with the murderers, but he still couldn't, after two weeks, figure out how to set the alarm on his new phone. And there was no way in hell he was asking Sgt Donovan, or someone else for that matter, how to do it since they all would just laugh at his complete lack of handiness. For a moment he had considered to ask Dr Watson, since he was a rather nice chap after all, but then he had change his mind since he had figured that then Sherlock would find out one way or another. There weren't many things nowadays that Sherlock contributed to for the better, he established while running by some children who were playing football in the sunlight.

_Well, except of course introducing, even though that probably isn't the right word for it, me to his much more handsome older brother. I should have asked for his number when I had the chance, but hopefully we will run into each other again soon. Shouldn't be to unlikely, considering Sherlock's behaviour…_

That was almost what happened because just a few seconds later he saw no one less than Mycroft Holmes sitting on a bench in the shadow next to the lake. The government official didn't look as stressed as he had done the last time he met him, there was actually a quite peaceful expression on his face. Greg couldn't help to notice the fact that he was wearing a gorgeous bright three piece suit in which he looked more than dashing. The breeze played with the curl of the front of his brown hair and Greg couldn't help to wonder what it would feel like if it wouldn't have been the wind, but his own fingers.

_Gregory Jonathan Lestrade, stop fantasizing about Sherlock's handsome older brother. It doesn't matter that he looks so fantastic, especially the skin on his neck that makes a subtle, but still very nice contrast to hi- oh no, still doing it._

He started to walk towards Mycroft with a steady pace; he didn't want to scare him by suddenly creeping up on him, but then he realised that there was probably no-one on this Earth that could surprise Mycroft from behind. _Although, it would actually really nice to surprise Mycroft from behind _Greg thought and smiled smugly, but stopped when he reached the older Holmes brother.

'Enjoying the weather, Mr Holmes?'

Mycroft met Greg's gaze and, as he had suspected, looked as if he had awaited his arrival for quite a long time.

'Yes, I dare say, the weather is rather pleasing. Would you care to accompany me, if you do not mind?'

Greg nodded cheerfully and sat down on Mycroft's right side. He now saw that the government official had brought his umbrella with him and couldn't help but smile even more widely.

'Do you suspect that it'll start to rain soon?'

'Of course not detective inspector, but it's an old habit of mine to always carry my umbrella with me whenever I go out for a walk.' Mycroft crossed his legs and looked out over the lake, and to Greg's further amazement he pulled out a little pouch that seemed to be made out of blue silk. He opened it and started to throw out little breadcrumbs in front of himself and his new acquaintance, and before Greg had had the time to blink, the pigeons were attacking the scattered remnants of the bread.

'Of all the things I could have imagined you doing,'_ and there are actually quite a lot of things I can imagine him doing, or things I can do to him…_ 'feeding the pigeons actually wasn't one of them.'

Mycroft smiled, a little surprised by Greg's words, but still kept his content countenance. There were now actually a lot of pigeons surrounding them, but somehow, and luckily, they kept a safe distance from the two men on the bench.

'Really? Do elaborate further on that...' The left corner of the government official's mouth drew upwards in an almost sly grin. _Those lips really are something. _Greg suddenly felt an urge to explore Mycroft's mouth, but after a few seconds he decided not to.

'If your brother has informed me correctly you occupy a very important position in the government, and occasionally save our country from all kinds of catastrophes. Greg received an encouraging look, and for a moment he thought that he actually could hint some abashment in the way Mycroft made a small movement over his lips with his hand.

'I just thought that since you probably spend most of your time with important politicians and different kinds of secret agencies, feeding the pigeons would be a quite boring activity for you.'

'Well, you'd be surprised, detective inspector, to find how many of the people I have to work with everyday not really are much more exciting or of more interest than these pigeons. And when I actually do not work, I find it rather relaxing to just sit and look at the pigeons fight over the food I throw at them, not very differently from the people I just mentioned.'

Greg leant towards Mycroft and felt an unusual feeling in his stomach arise as he stretched out his hands and grabbed some breadcrumbs from the pouch in Mycroft's lap.

'So that's all you do in your spare time then, feed the pigeons?'

Mycroft's face suddenly became a bit more restraint, but then his expressions went back to the content smile.

'Well, I feed the pigeons, and sometimes I feed the sparrows too. It gives me a sense of enormous well-being.'

Greg threw the breadcrumbs on the ground, and since the pigeons ate them so fast he grabbed another handful from the pouch, which caused Mycroft to frown once again, very much to Greg's delight.

'Well, except for that. Any kind of real social interaction?' Greg meant this as a joke, but Mycroft suddenly became serious and looked him very honestly in the eyes.

'No, not really. But if you would like to we could, ehm…' Mycroft stopped to look for the right end of the sentence, and Greg couldn't help to think that the other man was really cute when he looked puzzled, his hands pressed to his temples and eyes closed.

'… maybe try the benefits of human company?'

Greg began to roar with laughter, and couldn't help but to pat Mycroft on his knee lightly when he was met by an uncomprehending expression from the government official.

'I actually already have human acquaintances! No hold on, Mr Holmes!' Greg stopped Mycroft as he was just about to stand up. 'I meant that as a joke. I'd love to spend some more time with you.'

Mycroft sat down again, and then smiled at the detective inspector after he had reassembled himself.

'How about dinner? Next week?'

Greg felt that tingling sensation in his stomach again as he answered.

'That sounds lovely.'

The government official pulled out a business card from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and gave it to Greg.

'Call me tomorrow so we can decide when I can pick you up.'

The sudden confidence in Mycroft's voice most likely had something to do with the fact that planning meetings was something the government official probably was more used to do rather than real human interaction, as Greg decided to call it. The detective inspector smiled and gratefully accepted the card that was extended towards him.

'Now give me some more of those breadcrumbs!'


	7. Won't You Take Me To The Queen Of Hearts

**Chapter 7 – Won't You Take Me To The Queen Of Hearts**

_Now you've lost, there's nothing left to defend_

_You came so close to the king and all of his men_

_- The King And All Of His Men, Wolf Gang_

* * *

It was the smell of burnt toast that woke Greg up the next morning. At first he almost panicked, but then he remembered that Mycroft had paid him a visit the night before, and therefore decided that it couldn't be anything dangerous.

_But why on Earth does it smell as if someone has set fire to something?_

Greg sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes, trying to adjust them to the light shining in from spring between the blind and the window. Still with the distinct burned smell in his nostrils he stood up and walked out of his bedroom towards his kitchen which was combined with the living room. He only stopped to have a quick look of himself in the small mirror on the wall over his wretched chest of drawers. Greg wasn't too surprised to find that he needed a shave really badly, but then decided that he had higher priorities, that hideous smell for a start.

When he reached the kitchen part of the room, which was furthest away from Greg's bedroom, he was greeted by the unbelievable, but still very pleasing, sight of Mycroft Holmes standing by the stove, in an apron, muttering words of abuse over the "bloody corrupt toaster". Greg stopped immediately, right on the spot, blinked a few times and then spoke.

'Mycroft, what are you trying to do?'

The government official spun around, and actually seemed to be genuinely surprised over seeing Greg. He was rewarded for his lack of concentration by having some pancake batter from the frying pan splash onto his hand. As Mycroft swore once again, Greg, a bit reluctant, felt that familiar arousal of hearing the other man swear creep upon him. And it didn't get better when Mycroft put the burnt finger in his mouth and made a really adorable expression while doing so, looking like a frowning little child. Greg tried to hide a muffled moan by clearing his throat, but failed. Thankfully Mycroft decided to answer his question.

'Since you were so kind to let me spend the night here, I decided to make you breakfast. Unfortunately I burnt the toast and I have almost ruined all the pancakes.'

'But you've never cooked anything in your whole life Myc!'

'No, but I thought that, well…' Mycroft scratched the back of his head and looked down at his feet. 'I could try to do something domestic, like making your favourite kind of breakfast, and skip the mysterious kidnapping part.'

Greg felt like hugging the man in front of him until the end of time because of his bewildered and humble statement. Instead he took the pan from his former boyfriend and tried his best to save the poor pancake. Greg was almost a hundred percent certain that Mycroft had forced himself to look up the meaning of the word 'domestic' during the night, since he had thought that it probably would have been the last word to ever come across the politician's lips.

Mycroft looked slightly embarrassed and turned on his heels, heading for the small dinner table by the window. The table was already set, complete with the compulsory tea pot and the neatly folded napkins that Greg by now considered one of Mycroft's trademarks. Greg managed to make a few pancakes from the quite poorly mixed batter, and then put them on the table together with the toasts that luckily had escaped from being burned to ashes by Mycroft. Said man was standing by his chair by the table, looking anxiously at the detective inspector.

'Domestic, Mycroft. Remember? You don't have to wait until I come to sit down.'

The government official nodded apologetically, and mumbled silently 'Of course not, I am sorry' and then sat down on his chair. Greg put some of the pancakes on his plate and ravenously started to eat, while Mycroft smoothly poured tea into Greg's and his own cup.

'So, Gregory, what have you done the last few days?'

The question caught Greg completely off guard, and he gave it all away by letting his mouth hang open, looking as if he had been asked if he had strangled any kittens while singing _Afternoon Delight_ lately.

'Not too much, no homicides or anything like that. And your brother hasn't been as annoying as he usually is.'

'I am very glad to hear that. His slightly better behaviour is probably because we sp-… He never really approved of our relationship.'

Greg smiled a bit defiantly and looked Mycroft directly in the eyes as he made a point of licking some strawberry jam from his own lips. When he saw that the movement had got the desired attention, he said:

'Well, maybe his behaviour might change again in the near future, who knows?'

Mycroft almost dropped the half burnt toast he held in his hand, and met the detective inspector's nearly teasingly gaze.

'Do you really mean that Gregory?'

'I'm not promising anything Myc, but I'm aware of that I acted a bit drastic last week when I just left you like that. I was so sad and felt so lonely when I got the news that my mother had died, and when you just ran away without any reason it was the last straw.' Greg's teasing smile was now replaced by a sad resolute expression, and he stretched out his hand across the table and Mycroft took it, pressing it softly. 'I'm just getting so God-damned tired of this whole thing sometimes. It's not a good way to express your affection for me by kidnapping my family members and interrogate them, just to find out what my favourite brand of tea is.'

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his seat, still holding Greg's hand in his own.

'But you said that I was not allowed to deduce things like that from you.'

'No, but then again, you could just have asked me. I know that you're a _very_ powerful man, and that you're used to use your ability to deduce when you're working, but it doesn't work, _at all_, in a relationship, Myc. I think we need to work a bit, no - a lot, on the domestic part in general, really.'

The government official nodded and looked very concentrated, and Greg was sure that he was taking down mental notes to remember all these things. Greg gave him a little while to process what he'd just said, and after a little while Mycroft started to look even more puzzled.

'What you're thinking about? Tell me Mycroft, communication is the key to a relationship remember?'

Mycroft swallowed hard and then said:

'I think I have understood what you mean, and I promise you that I will do my absolute best to be a bi- a lot, more domestic. But why do you believe in me, Gregory? What not just walk away, you would save yourself a lot of sorrow if you did.'

Greg grabbed Mycroft's other hand and looked him deeply in the eyes.

'Because I love you Mycroft. I knew what I was getting in to when I decided to start dating a man who had the power to destroy the Isle of Wight if he wanted too. I just forgot that for few days. You're extraordinary Myc, and you mean more than the whole world to me, and that's why it hurts so much when you do me wrong.'

'I love you too Gregory, very much.'

'And that's why we're sitting here in the first place. We need to work on our relationship, and there's nothing wrong with that. I need to get a bit more understanding, and you need to open up a bit more. There's no shame in talking about your feelings, and to open up your heart. At least not to me, my dear queen.'

Mycroft gave Greg a meaningful look over his cup of tea, but smiled back at Greg when he saw his boyfriend's mocking expression.

'I am quite pleased with being you dear queen, Gregory, because then I will have the possibility to let you be the one responsible for making all our future meals. And I am certain that that decision will be vital for our kingdom's survival.'


	8. The Worrying Kind

**Chapter 8 – The Worrying Kind**

_Words, I'd like to break them  
Words, I like to shake them  
Shake them from my troublesome mind  
And you turn up your nose  
It's a joke you suppose  
But baby, I'm the worrying kind_

_- The Worrying Kind, The Ark_

_October 2010_

* * *

_Are you coming home soon?_

_- Greg_

Mycroft smiled sadly at the screen, thinking about how many times he had worked overtime and had not been able to come home at reasonable hours. He stepped out of his office, giving Anthea a discreet nod without looking up at her as he headed towards the elevator.

_I have just finished. I will be home in twenty minutes, if the journey goes as planned._

_- MH_

Mycroft put down his mobile in the pocket of his overcoat, stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor. He put the troublesome curl of hair in place in his forehead, thinking for the ninth time that day that he needed to get his hair cut. To his surprise he got another text from Gregory as he stepped out of the elevator entering the dark street.

_Good. I can't wait until you get here._

_- Greg_

The government official smiled to himself; looking forward to meet his boyfriend and to have a good night's sleep after having worked for four days in a row. He stepped into the black car outside the unsuspicious building where he had his office, heading into the anticipative city that was London at night.

* * *

Mycroft inserted the key into the lock of his apartment door and opened it. The place was unexpectedly quiet and the lamps in the hall were off. He put down his leather briefcase and put his umbrella with the whangee cane handle that he was quite fond of, in the umbrella stand by the shoe rack.

'Gregory? Are you h-'

Suddenly the government official was pressed up against one of the doors of the hallway, feeling eager hands all over his body. His first instinct was to fight off the assailant, but when he felt the familiar touch of Gregory's soft lips on his, he decided it was best not to.

'What… are you doi- Gregory!' Mycroft managed to squeak as the detective inspector took of his boyfriend's overcoat and let it fell to the floor. Before he had got the time to protest, Gregory had managed to unbutton his waistcoat.

'I… just- Oh dear lord.'

Gregory silenced him by nibbling on the earlobe of his right ear which sent jolts of pleasure through the politician's whole body. Mycroft could not help but press up against the wall, the palms of his hands squeezing hard against the Georgian tapestry. The other man let his hands slid along Mycroft's suspenders, playfully fiddling with the clips and then opening them in order to gain better access to the politician's shirt clad chest.

'I've missed you Myc.'

'I have,' Mycroft inhaled loudly, 'missed you too. But this is not…'

Gregory pulled off his boyfriend's suit jacket, and started to strip him off from his waistcoat, which made Mycroft panic. He sure liked the feeling of being close to the detective inspector, but this was far too much to deal with at the same time. An unpleasant feeling of exposure came over him, and all the pleasure that he had felt a few moments ago was completely gone.

'Stop, Gregory, I… I am not ready for this.'

The other man stopped immediately and took half a step backwards. He let his previously so searching hands slowly fall from his boyfriend's body. Mycroft could hear the detective inspector breath feverishly and he could almost see the familiar glimpse in Gregory's eyes in the darkness.

'Am I doing something wrong, Myc?'

Mycroft was surprised by the vulnerability in the other man's voice; he had expected Gregory to be accusatory and disappointed, if not angry.

'No, of course not. It is not your fault, it is entirely mine.'

The politician trembled on the last word, and sank down to the floor, still leaning against the wall. Gregory sat down slowly next to him, waiting for Mycroft to continue. He made sure not to touch him, but Mycroft could feel his expecting eyes on him.

'I am not familiar to…' the government official searched for the right words, '… physical contact.'

Gregory, who know started to see what the problem was, considered what his boyfriend had said, and then he asked:

'So… You've never slept with anyone?'

'I had never kissed anyone before I met you, Gregory.'

'Oh, Myc, if I had known.'

The detective inspector tentatively grabbed Mycroft's hand, slowly caressing it. The other man precariously leant against Gregory's chest, and he carefully put an arm around the politician and began to stroke his hair.

'I am not good at these things Gregory.'

'We'll take it slow, Myc, don't worry. We have all the time in the world.'

* * *

The next morning Mycroft had woken up first and made some breakfast while Greg got dressed. To take out butter and bread and prepare some tea was just about as much as the government official could manage to do in the kitchen, but it was still very appreciated by Greg who was very tired in the mornings. When Greg arrived at the breakfast table he sat down and started spread some jam over two slices of bread.

'John is actually right about jam, there's no better way to start a day, except with pancakes of course.'

Mycroft smiled observantly while pouring tea into his boyfriend's cup.

'Doctor Watson has obviously not only improved my dear brother's everyday life, I can see Sherlock has most definitely taken advantage of the poor army doctor. But Sherlock has on the other hand become much more annoying and troublesome lately.'

Greg noticed how Mycroft for barely a second frowned and looked sad, but it was enough for him to notice.

'What has he done now?'

'Oh, not much really, he has only started to refer to me as 'her majesty' or 'the queen', which is rather vexatious when her majesty actually is in the same room.'

The detective choked on his tea, as he clearly could imagine the great Sherlock Holmes mocking his own brother in front of the whole royal court, complete with John trying to make him stop without succeeding. Mycroft frowned and gave his boyfriend a very meaning look, which made Greg laugh even harder.

'But you're a bit of a queen, aren't you Myc? Especially when you're doing that lovely expression.'

Mycroft returned to his cheese sandwich, and looked utterly dissatisfied. Greg smiled at his boyfriend and spoke again.

'In a good way of course. Never mind Sherlock, you're my dear queen Mycroft.'

The politician could hear the love in Greg's voice, but was too proud to acknowledge his defeat, so he decided to drop the matter.


	9. Part I It's No Trick

**Chapter 9 – Part I – It's No Trick**

_Check your handbook_

_It's no trick_

_Take the chapstick_

_Put it on your lips_

_Crack a smile_

_Adjust my tie_

_Know your boyfriend,_

_Unlike other guys_

_- Oxford Comma, Vampire Weekend_

* * *

After their quaint breakfast Mycroft and Greg cleared the table in silence. Neither of them could find the rights words to say to the other, so they just smiled whenever their eyes happened to meet. Greg was very grateful for having a day off since it was a Saturday and no-one had called him in for work. Mycroft didn't seem to have any plans on leaving for work either, so they would hopefully have the whole day to work things out, and start on Mycroft's "domestication". Greg only needed to figure out a good way to help his boyfriend with this. He had earlier in their relationship tried to make the government official loosen up a bit, but without much success. Mycroft had problems with the most kind of basic things, like how to act in public when they were together ("I cannot hold your hand here in front of all these people, Gregory. We need to show some decency.") The problem wasn't that he didn't want people to see them together; he was just a really old-fashioned man. Greg had tried to tell him that people nowadays usually do far much more than just holding hands in public, but it hadn't worked, on the contrary, it had just made Mycroft even more timid.

As Greg washed the last of the plates in his kitchen-sink, he looked up at the politician who stood next to him, nervously rubbing his hands with each other. Greg had given him the easy task to take the garbage to the bins outside his apartment, and now he had returned. He stood next to the detective inspector, and looked at him as if he was waiting for an order.

'You can read the papers while I'm getting dressed. Or do anything you like, really.'

Greg turned off the tap and put the washed plate in the disk rack, nodding as he spoke towards the day's edition of the Guardian which lay on the coffee table by the sofa.

'And I assume that you're having the day off too?'

'Yes I have, Gregory.' Mycroft smiled towards the detective inspector and sat down in the sofa, crossing his long legs and placing the paper in his lap. 'Although it seems as if I should make another contribution to our country's welfare. Apparently North Korea has launched some rockets into the waters of the Korean peninsula. Again.'

'I bet you already knew that. And I'm equally sure of that you also have taken all the necessary precautions to work out the problem.' Greg walked into his bedroom but left the door slightly open so he could continue talking with Mycroft.

'It is possible. By the way, what are our plans for the day, my dear? Should we stay in and talk things through our do you have something else in mind?'

He opened the first drawer of the scrubby dresser, only to find a handful of unwashed shirts. Greg had an unhealthy habit of putting back used clothes in their usual places in the drawers; he almost hoped that they would be clean the next time he looked for them. He sighed, picked up one of the shirts and inspected it for possible embarrassing stains, and called out his answer.

'We're going to do some ordinary activities today. I figured that, as we agreed on yesterday, it would be good for us to get a bit more domestic. For the last four months we've scarcely met each other properly, and when we have, we've only had dinners at posh restaurants. We shared a bed Mycroft, and we almost didn't sleep in it at the same time for six months!'

_Oh, what the hell, if we're going for domestic I might as well take a wrinkled shirt. It's what everyone else nowadays seems to think is decent enough anyway…_

He chose a light blue one that almost looked washed, and then continued to look for a matching pair of trousers. Luckily he found a pair of jeans in another drawer, and these were actually completely unused. Greg went into the bathroom, but let the door open, and had a quick wash in the sink

'It does sound like a good idea, Gregory. Would you mind though if I called Anthea to get some new clothes for me? The suit jacket I am wearing now is stained from my failed attempts of making breakfast, and I would rather not wear it in public, as I am sure you understand.'

As the detective inspector adjusted his collar in front of the mirror and listened to his boyfriend, he got a rather pleasant idea.

'But I do in fact mind, Mycroft.'

There was a short moment of complete silence, and then the government official broke it, sounding very confused.

'Ahum… What do you mean by that?'

'Come in here and I'll show you.'

Greg smiled smugly to himself as his boyfriend appeared in the door.

'I found a nice pair of jeans for you in my drawer.'

He pulled out a pair of dark blue jeans that was a bit too long for him, but he had figured that they hopefully would fit Mycroft rather well. He continued:

'I think you can use the same shirt as you wore yesterday though.'

He waited for the politician to answer, but it never came one. Mycroft just stood in the doorway, looking more confused than ever. After what seemed like an eternity he took a few steps forward and took the jeans Greg was holding in his hands in his own and frowned sceptically.

'Jeans?'

Greg nodded encouragingly.

'I have never worn a pair of jeans since…'

Mycroft didn't finish that sentence. Greg wasn't sure if he just was being dramatic, or if he genuinely couldn't remember when the last time he had worn a pair had been.

'Can I at least borrow a clean shirt?'

The politician's pleading expression was almost comical to Greg, as if he actually never had worn any piece of clothing two days in a row. Greg decided that it was for the best to not take too big steps immediately, and smiled at the man in front of him.

'Sure, Myc. This one might work.'

He had opened the shit drawer again and found a nice pink shirt which he gave to Mycroft, who headed towards the bathroom to change into his new clothes. Greg kept on smiling to himself as he made his bed, humming the melody to a song to which he couldn't remember the name of at the moment. After a couple of minutes he heard the bathroom door open slowly.

'This feels… strange.'

Mycroft stepped shyly out of the bathroom, careful not to look himself in the mirror over the chest of drawers.

'You look…' Greg had to take a few breaths while taking in his boyfriend's appearance before finishing the sentence '…lovely. And_ very_ domestic indeed.'

He reached out to touch the politician's jaw with his right hand as he moved towards him. Greg let his other hand playfully caress the other man's hip, liking the touch of his boyfriend's body beneath the jeans.

'I think I will need a belt though, Gregory.'

'Sure.'

Greg pressed a soft kiss on Mycroft's cheek before turning around towards the drawer once again. He found a black one and gave it to Mycroft who put in in place with practised hands.

'Where are we going?' the government official asked a bit worriedly. 'I cannot be seen like this in places where there could be people I work with. It would not be good for my so called image.'

'Oh, don't worry Myc. I don't think the prime minister or the Queen is going to be in Waitrose at nine in the morning' said Greg jokingly, grabbing his wallet, keys and mobile phone as they both made their way towards the front door.

'No, you're right,' Mycroft smiled back at his boyfriend. "Her majesty prefers to do her grocery shopping in the afternoon.'


	10. Part II Throw Down The Government

**Chapter 9 - Part II – Throw Down The Government, Become A President**

_The most radical thing to do_

_Is to love someone who loves you_

_Even when the world is seemingly_

_Telling you not to_

_I don't know what's wrong or right_

_I just know what's worth a fight_

_The most radical thing to do is to do what your heart_

_Tells you to_

'_Cause I do, assure you_

_That I do, adore you_

_I wish I could be that radical, that radical_

_- The Most Radical Thing To Do, The Ark_

* * *

They both stepped out from Waitrose into the busy street, smiling as they did so. It was impossible to imagine that it had rained the previous night, since the sun cast rays of light over London, and the couple smiled delightfully at each other.

'It has gone far too long time since I last did some ordinary shopping' Mycroft said as they headed towards the closest underground station.

'I can't help but to agree.'

Greg made a snorting noise when the government official for what seemed to be the thousandth time adjusted his already faultless clothing.

'Stop doing that, Myc. You look gorgeous.'

Mycroft smiled appreciatively and then accepted the Oyster card offered him.

'It was not necessary for us to get me this.' He held up the plastic card towards his boyfriend.

'Oh, you see Myc, it was.' Greg really had to make an effort to make his voice heard in the crowded station as they went through turnstiles. He gained an uncomprehending look from his boyfriend, and he didn't get the time to finish the sentence since their train was just about to leave.

'Come on Mycroft!'

They couple ran towards the door, both with plastic grocery bags dangling in their hands. Mycroft dropped one of his as he accidentally smashed it against column, screaming out a loud 'Bollocks!' as he jumped into the tram after Greg, just as the doors of the train closed.

'I sure hope that is domestic, Gregory' he said as they both looked at the scattered eatables on the platform, grasping for air.

The detective inspector didn't answer; they just shared a gaze and started to laugh uncontrollably. The people around them didn't seem to notice, except for a little lady who made an annoyed sound behind her newspaper.

They stepped of the tube a few stations later, still giggling like little teenage girls. Greg's apartment was located just a few streets away, and they both enjoyed the short walk in the beautiful weather. Outside the uninspiring concrete building they walked by the gang of boys Mycroft had met the previous night. They must have recognized him because one of them, who seemed to be the leader, called out to them:

'Oh, look at the fairy copper, taking his boy toy for a walk.' The young man sneered. 'I didn't think the upper class allowed queers!'

Greg didn't care about the comment since he was fairly used to them and had learnt when to pick a fight, but he could see his boyfriend's jaw tighten abruptly.

'Don't listen Mycroft, it's not worth it.'

But he fell for deaf ears; the politician turned around and walked towards the chav who had spoken. Before Greg had got the chance to stop him, Mycroft had reached the gang and answered the defiant question with an even more provocative one:

'Oh, but you claim that it is _so accepted_ inside your own social circle?'

The gang went quiet and waited for the leader's reply. Greg now stood next to his boyfriend, and put one of his hands on Mycroft's shoulders.

'It's not worth it Mycroft.'

'No, hold on Gregory, I want to see how this young gentleman is going explain my statement. I just think it is a bit disappointing that his dear acquaintances here do not seem to have noticed the fact that their leader is a so called queer himself.'

The leader took a step closer towards Mycroft; his gang following his movement with their eyes, some of them still not getting the insult.

'You should be more careful, puff, we would want to get th-'

'So we've changed the subject back to me now?' Mycroft cut him off in the middle of the sentence, looking down at him with mocking eyes. 'Perhaps you could tell them about that little Latino boy you have grown quite close to during the last three, no, four weeks.'

The boy just stared at him, mouth wide open.

'How you usually meet each other for nightly adventures in the tunnel by the new buildings down the street? But _you _should have been more careful, young man, since it seems like Eduardo might have given you-'

Mycroft didn't get the chance to finish the sentence because the boy hit him in the face, on his left cheek. The politician a step backwards, lifting his hand to his mouth to find blood seeping out from his mouth. It was under the wire that Greg managed to stop the boy from giving him another blow by stepping between them.

'How the hell did you know about that?'

The rest of the teenage chavs were as still as statues, one of them dropped the can of beer he had held in his hand. After a few seconds they started to argue with each other, throwing question after question at their fallen leader.

'Eduardo? The dancing fag? Is that what you've been doing while we've been forced to steal booze and cigarettes for you, eh? Just going out for a quick fag during the breaks? Apparently you meant literally!'

'He's lying! Can't you see that?' The leader started to panic and turned his concentration away from Mycroft to his changeable friends.

'Where did you really get that hickey from, Aiden? You said you've been shagging Shannon!'

The accusations kept coming at him. All the members of the little gang had now stood up and formed a circle around their former leader, like angry bees swarming around a glass of spilled out lemonade.

Mycroft grabbed Greg's arm and pulled him towards the entrance of the apartment. He leaned towards his boyfriend's ear, careful not to drip any blood on his shirt, as the moved away from the fighting chavs and said:

'I think we should leave them to sort things out themselves, Gregory.'

The detective inspector was still stunned by what just had happened, and only nodded approvingly as he opened the main door of the building.


	11. Part III It's Not A Miracle We Needed

**Chapter 9 – Part III – It's Not a Miracle We Needed**

_Counting all different ideas drifting away_

_Past and present, they don't matter now the future's sorted out_

_Watch her move in elliptical patterns_

_Think it's not what you say, what you say is way too complicated_

_For I minute, though, I couldn't tell how to fall out_

_- 1901, Phoenix_

* * *

'That was a bit unexpected.'

Greg picked out a bag of ice from the freezer and handed it to Mycroft who accepted it and pressed it to his slightly swollen cheek. The politician shifted in his seat on the sofa, and then said dejectedly:

'He got nothing more than he deserved.'

"Maybe. Would you care for some tea?"

'I would love a cuppa, yes, if it is not too much trouble.'

Mycroft smiled at the detective inspector and received a small wink. Greg put the kettle on and started to prepare the tea tray.

'But how did you know all these things, Myc?'

'I am a Holmes after all, my dear' said Mycroft smugly.

'The only difference is that I, unlike my brother, can choose when to, how shall I put it, use my powers of deduction, as my brother so ambitiously calls it. It was not too difficult to work out; the dirt on his jeans gave away most of it.'

'But it was still not necessary to do it, Mycroft.'

The government official shrugged, and then pulled out his buzzing mobile phone from his pocket.

'Excuse me for a moment Gregory, it is of national importance.'

He stood up and went into the bedroom, leaving Greg by the prepared tea tray wondering if there was another war breaking out somewhere or if the queen just wanted advice on what the colour of her new hat should be. Smiling to himself he took the tray and put it on the small messy coffee table. He hadn't lived in the apartment for more than just over week but it was more disorganized than the thoughts in his head. Still, most of his things were still in cardboard boxes. He had been lucky to find somewhere to stay on such short notice, Sgt Donovan's cousin had just finished his studies at university and moved to America and was kind enough to lend his apartment to Greg, at least for two months until the lease must be renewed.

_But you don't have any plans on staying here much longer, have you? _Greg thought to himself, and he was not entirely sure whether that was something he was happy about or not. _I do want us to be together, but things are maybe moving a bit too quick. Again._

Mycroft interrupted his train of thought as he stepped into the room and put down his phone in of the pockets of his jeans.

'I need to go on a meeting; Europe's economy is at stake…'

Greg felt as if his heart turned to stone.

'But I told them that they had to deal with the matter without my help. This is after all far more important.'

Mycroft sat down at the sofa and started to pour tea into the two chipped cups.

'And since I have been working overtime a lot lately, well _always_, and I therefore thought that it was not more than right.'

Smiling like a little child who had dared to ride his bike for the first time without having one of his parents holding the rack, he looked up at his boyfriend, waiting for some kind of acknowledgement.

Greg sat down next to him and took one of the cups which he poured some milk in. After a few seconds the politician's facial expression changed to a more confused one, and Greg could see that he wondered if he had done something wrong.

_Oh why can't you just admit it? You adore the way he always does his best, even if the world might fall apart as a result of it. And you love him._

He put down the cup on its saucer again, and took a deep breath. Then he turned towards Mycroft and kissed him.

The familiar touch of Mycroft's lips sent sparks through the whole of his body, and he wondered why he had restrained himself from doing this again for such a long time.

Mycroft was caught completely of guard, but luckily he hadn't been holding his cup in his hands either. After a few moments he closed his eyes and opened up his mouth willingly for Greg's elated tongue, which started to re-explore his mouth.

After a few moments Greg stopped. As their mouths departed he put his hand on Mycroft's unharmed cheek, stroking over it slowly. Their eyes met, and for the second time that day they started to giggle.

'Dear me, Mycroft, I can't help it. I love that you're really trying to make this work. And how you manage to look so good in a pair of jeans. Not to mention your gorgeous face, especially when you're laughing. But most of all, I love you.'

Mycroft smiled even wider and leant forward towards his boyfriend so their foreheads met. Still looking the other man in the eyes he said:

'I love you too, and I will do whatever it takes to make this work. Even if it means that the world quite literally will go under.'


	12. It's Simple And Complex

**Chapter 10 – It's Simple And Complex**

_Obsessions in my head,_

_Don't connect with my intellect_

-_ Obsessions, Suede_

* * *

_End of July 2009_

Mycroft heard a determined knock on his door, and a few seconds later he heard the voice that he had longed so much for during the past week.

'Myc? Are you there?'

The government official put down the book he had been reading, one of his favourites – The Picture of Dorian Gray, and felt that comfortable and yet somehow alarming feeling in his stomach. He pressed one of the small buttons, the one that opens up the front door, under table top of the coffee table next to him, and then he heard Gregory walk into his apartment. Mycroft braced himself and took a deep breath and folded his hands in his lap. Two seconds he realised that he did not look decent; indeed he was wearing one of his characterizing pair of striped suit trousers, but not his suit jacket or even his west. But before he had got the chance to dress up properly, Gregory stood in the door of his study, first looking at him a bit shyly, but after letting his eyes wonder down the politician's body he only looked really pleased. Mycroft stood up gracefully and stepped towards Gregory to greet him.

'Good afternoon, Gregory. How can I help you?'

Gregory answered, still looking very smug:

'Hello Myc. I managed to get the rest of the day of, so I came over here, hoping that you would be at home. I tried to call you first, but the number didn't work.'

'I understand, I shall ask Anthea to text you my new number.'

'… or you could just tell me what it is right now.'

Mycroft looked utterly astonished, as if he never had heard anything so straight forward. He moved his right arm up to his chest, but then realised that the business cards he was looking for was in his suit jacket. Which he was not wearing.

The detective inspector reacted at the sight of the slight brushing; he tilted his head back slightly and licked his lips. Mycroft suddenly started to feel a bit strange; the feeling that he felt tingling throughout his body was a confusing one that always seemed to occur whenever he was in the company of Gregory.

'You could just tell me the number, you know, and I'll put it down in my mobile immediately. There's no doubt about the fact that you remember it.'

Gregory took out his mobile from the pocket of his trousers, and this time it was Mycroft's turn to frown slightly as he saw the other man's fingers moving over the buttons of the telephone device. After a few failed attempts at trying to add a new contact, Gregory gave up and looked up at Mycroft.

'Here, it's better if you write it. I'm not used to this thing so I'll probably just end up deleting all my contacts instead.'

Mycroft's fingers touched Gregory's as he took the mobile in his hand. For a second the government official felt a sudden urge to touch Gregory's hand again, for he liked the feeling that flowed through his body like electricity when he did.

_No, for Christ's sake, stop that. Is not enough that you look worse than a badger that has been run over? You DO NOT need to get your emotions involved too._

He wrote down the number on the mobile, and while he was doing it he made sure to resist the urge to peer up at Gregory standing in front of him. When he was done Mycroft stretched out his arm to give him the telephone back, but when their hands touched once again, it felt like a spark, and Gregory accidentally dropped the phone on the Persian carpet.

'Oh, damn!'

'I am so sorry Gregory, do apologize my clumsiness.'

'It was my fault, Mycroft. You don't have to be so polite all the time.'

Gregory bent down to pick up the mobile, and Mycroft couldn't help but to let out a long sigh. When Gregory looked up at the politician he immediately looked away and swore quietly to himself, once again cursing his uncontrollable emotions. The detective inspector, who really enjoyed himself, sat down in one of the two armchairs, where he crossed his legs and started to touch his own lips very vaguely. The government official's cheeks turned red within a second and therefore made his way towards the kitchen, calling out to Gregory as he did so.

'Would you care for some tea?'

Gregory's answer came, sounding very seductive and in a slightly higher pitch than he usually spoke in.

'Sure, that'd be fab.'

_Why does he have to sound so beautiful every time he speaks? Or maybe the question should be: why do I feel so… peculiar when he does? Oh, why am I even trying, I do not understand my feelings anyway. Maybe Sherlock is right after all. Maybe it is for the best to just turn them off entirely. You know very well what happened the last time you gave in to your… natural needs._

Mycroft put the kettle on and prepared a tray with cups, sugar and milk, and tried to decide whether to just ask the detective to leave him alone, or if he would actually wait and see what happened if he did not.

Suddenly he felt two hands on each side of his waist, and he almost dropped the tea cup in his hand in surprise.

'I know you've been looking, Myc.'

The detective inspector's voice was nothing more but a whisper in Mycroft's right ear, but he heard it clearer than a thousand blowing trumpets. The combination of the touch of Gregory's hands and the touch of his chest against Mycroft's back, with the gentle, somehow yet teasing voice sent a shiver down the politician's spine. He did not know how to react, so he just froze on the spot, apprehensively waiting for what would happen next.

'And I also know that you like what you've seen.'

Mycroft could not help but to swallow hard, and made a small attempt to turn around, but Gregory held him in place with steady hands.

'Don't turn around, Mycroft, just listen to me. I don't mind you looking at me, I like it. A lot. And you don't have to be ashamed over the fact that you like it too. Tell me, Myc, don't you like the feeling you get when our bodies touch?"

The politician nodded slowly, and then closed his eyes.

"And I am also quite fond of the way you are so straightforward. Or the way your fingers move over the buttons of your mobile when you are typing."

Gregory lifted up his left hand to Mycroft's shoulder and let it fell down the government official's back, along the right strap of his burgundy braces, causing Mycroft almost a heart attack.

'And I really like the way you've dressed down tonight. Don't get me wrong, I love those three piece suits you normally wear, but this is a nice side of you I don't get to see too often.'

To Mycroft's surprise Gregory started to press soft kisses on his neck, and in shear panic the government official started to babble like an idiot.

'I just do not understand these feelings, Gregory. I…'

He had to take a deep breath, for Greg had found a ticklish spot, and the sensation mixed with fear was making him lose track of his already incoherent words.

'I really like your voice. The language that you use makes my emotions react like chemicals. The pure sound of it makes me feel like, oh, I just cannot describe it, Gregory. All those little things about you... I have never felt like this before.'

Gregory sucked tenderly on his earlobe while slowly caressing Mycroft's back. Suddenly Mycroft felt another new kind of feeling, but this time his body reacted more visibly. He felt a pleasant but yet unfamiliar tingling in his groin and therefore he inhaled sharply. Gregory must have noticed it, because Mycroft could feel him smiling against his skin, and then he whispered teasingly into the government official's ear, his voice both utterly raw and smooth at the same time:

'It's called obsessions, Mycroft. Can you handle it?'

A loud crashing noise could be heard after Gregory had uttered the last sentence, for Mycroft dropped the tea cup he had been holding in his hand.


	13. Be Cruel To Me 'Cause I'm A Fool For You

**Chapter 11 – Be Cruel To Me, 'Cause I'm A Fool For You**

_Your love is like a studded leather headlock  
Your kiss, it could put creases in the rain  
You're rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock  
And those other girls are just postmix lemonade_

_- Suck It And See, Arctic Monkeys_

* * *

'I've been thinking, Myc.'

'You know how it pleases me when you do that.'

The irony in the politician's voice couldn't have been more palpable. He looked at his boyfriend over the newspaper he was reading, and Greg could help but to make a grimace at the other man's quirking eyebrow.

'The funny thing is that I know that you really do…' This time it was Greg who made a smug face at his boyfriend, who quickly hid his blushing face behind the paper.

'Anyway, what I was going to say was that I would like us to move back together.' The detective inspector looked at his boyfriend across the coffee table, and added when he saw Mycroft's surprised face: 'But only if you would like us to, of course.'

'There is nothing I would rather do.'

The government official neatly folded the paper twice and put it gracefully on the table. He took out his mobile phone from the pocket from his jeans and was just about to make a call when he suddenly hesitated.

'Would you mind if I made sure that all your belongings would be back in my flat before tomorrow evening?'

'No, that's fine; in fact it would make a lot of things easier if you did.'

Mycroft seemed to have changed his mind about the calling, he rapidly tapped the small keys of the mobile and then on the spur of the moment he stopped and put the phone in his pocket again.

'Consider it done.'

* * *

Greg signed the last paper and then put it on the large pile in front of him. He let out a big sigh and then lied back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes for a moment. It had indeed been a calm day, at least in the sense that he had spent the whole day at the office, only attending two meetings and then taking care of paper work. After the weekend's transformative events Greg was happy that the week had started so softly, but he was also grateful that he would get a chance to stretch his legs on his way home.

On his way home to his and Mycroft's apartment to be more precise. And if his boyfriend had kept his promise his records would be waiting for him when he got there. Greg was looking forward to a lazy night in, hopefully consisting of listening to some music, drinking some tea and playing with Mycroft's hair.

_It's strange how someone can long for touching someone else so badly,_ Greg thought as he put on his coat and looked the door to his office. _But on the other hand, it's Mycroft Holmes's charming locks of hair that we're talking about._

As he stepped out of Scotland Yard's entrance he was more than surprised to find the politician who was the subject of his daydreaming waiting outside, and if Greg wasn't mistaken he was smoking a cigarette. The detective inspector looked around his shoulder to see if one of the familiar black cars were parked on the street, but he was stunned to see that there actually weren't one.

'Hello Mycroft. Have you've been standing out here for long?'

'Good evening Gregory. No, I have just arrived. I thought I would accompany you on your way home, if do not mind.'

'Of course not. But why on Earth are you smoking? I thought you had given up on that years ago.'

'I did.'

Mycroft stubbed out the cigarette under his left John Lobb shoe and then curved his left arm in a manner that Greg usually would have thought suggested that he should take it. But since it was Mycroft he was dealing with, Greg wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. When his boyfriend raised his eyebrows in a questioning way, he did so anyway, and was pleased to see a small smile on the other man when he hooked his arm in Mycroft's. They started to walk down the street and the government official continued:

'But I find that smoking, or rather its effects, helps to calm the nerves when I feel nervous.'

'What reasons have you got to be nervous then?'

The politician took a deep breath, and then he looked into his boyfriend's eyes and said:

'I have bought a house.'

'You have done _what_?'

'It is in fact a cottage, just outside Brighton. I happened to come across a small advertisement and I thought that it would be a good idea to spend our holiday there. No, wait Gregory, let me finish.' Greg had tried to protest, but Mycroft had cut him off before he got the chance. 'At first it might look like I have done the exact opposite to being domestic, but do tell me, doing something in the heat of the moment like that, is not that very domestic after all? To the best of my knowledge most people do that all the time. Well, at lea-'

This time Greg succeeded with interrupting him before he had finished the sentence, in the rather surprising way of suddenly grabbing Mycroft's right lapel and then pressing his lips against the other man's. The government official made a muffled sound, but after a second Greg could feel that his boyfriend started to relax and enjoy the sudden connection between them. Greg decided however that it was for the best to end the kiss after a little while since he didn't want to make Mycroft feel uncomfortable. As he leaned back and loosened the grip of his boyfriend's suit he saw that the politician had turned bright red.

'I guess that you do not mind that I bought it.'

Mycroft cleared his throat as they continued their walk.

'No, not when you put it like that. Do you know how astonishing you are, and how you make me feel when you say things like that?' Greg asked in joking manner, but there was still some honest wonder in his voice. 'Do you have some kind of evil master plan to make me go insane by being so honest and loveable?'

The government official looked surprisingly smug, considering how nervous he had been only a few moments earlier.

'I was just going to ask you the same question.'


	14. Part I This Hollow Chest Of Mine

**Chapter 12 – Part I – This Hollow Chest Of Mine**

_Oh when I look to the shape of my heart_

_It's separated only by scars_

_That cut in and cut out_

_Oh and leave me without_

_A heart that functions at all_

_But when I look to the shape of the sky_

_I give thanks for this hollow chest of mine_

_That I no longer feel_

_The great weight of ordeals_

_That can make this life so unkind_

_If there's any love in me, don't let it show_

_If there's any love in me, don't let it grow_

_- Shape of My Heart, Noah and the Whale_

* * *

Greg carefully moved the tonearm from its resting position to the first track of the record. He took a step back from the stereo and closed his eyes as he listened to the familiar crackling noise from the LP. A few seconds later, the tones of _Mis-Shapes_ sounded through the living room.

'I've decided to move some of your books and magazines over to the shelves by the opposite wall to make room for my records. Is it okay with you, Myc?' shouted Greg as he started to take out piles of leather bound books from one of the chestnut shelves.

'Yes, it is fine with me.' The politician's answer came from the study where he was working with preventing some kind of environmental catastrophe by the coast of Cornwall, if Greg remembered it right. Greg couldn't figure out how Mycroft had managed to convince his employers (whoever they might be) that he could work a bit more from home, but he was without any doubt very happy for it. During the past week Greg had worked quite a lot, there had been a murder in Camden and even if they had caught the killer quickly there had been a lot of paper work involved in the process. Mycroft had also worked, and about as much as usual, but he now arrived at home around six o'clock every evening and then he had worked there for a few hours. Even though his boyfriend spent most of that time in his study, Greg was happy that he was at home. He had treated the other man with a small break for tea the evenings he had been able to, which had been appreciated by both of them. During the well-earned breaks Greg had tried to make Mycroft tell him more about the cottage he had recently bought, but the government official had been very secretive, almost a bit smug. The only thing Mycroft had actually told his boyfriend was that they were about to visit the cottage as soon as possible, in the end of the month if everything worked out smoothly.

As Greg lifted out a big pile of what seemed to be old magazines about 19th century fashion, something fell to the floor from the brittle sheets of paper. He put the pile in the chaise longue in front of the fireplace and picked up what seemed to be an envelope. Greg had a quick look at it, it seemed to be at least ten years old, but it could as well have been far older than that. It was made of what seemed to be really expensive, thick paper, and there was a small emblem on the back of it, which looked like an 'H' inside a little circle. Judging by the weight of the envelope Greg assumed that there was something inside it, probably a letter or document of some kind. He was just about to open it up to see if he was right, when Mycroft suddenly appeared in the doorway.

'I would prefer if you would not open that, Gregory.'

The detective inspector could hear sadness in his boyfriend's voice, but the expression on his face looked resolute, almost commanding. Greg took a few steps towards the politician, stretched out his arm and offered him the envelope. Mycroft slowly took it, but made sure not to look at the envelope, and put it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

'What is it, Myc?'

'I would prefer not to talk about it.'

The government official stepped over one of the cardboard boxes with Greg's records, and sat down in one of the armchairs, crossed his legs and moved up his left hand so it partly covered his mouth.

'You know you can talk about anything with me. I might be able to help you out, you know.'

Greg turned off the music with the remote to the stereo and then sat down in the sofa next to Mycroft and tried his best to give the other man his most encouraging and reliable smile.

'I know, my dear, but I am afraid that there is not too much to do about the problem. In fact it is not even a problem anymore. Just an unfriendly reminder of my past.'

'Then there can't be much harm in talking about it, don't you think?'

'Maybe not.'

Mycroft took a deep breath, and Greg could clearly see that he was nerving himself. He rested his right arm on the armrest of the armchair and Greg took his boyfriend's hand, in his own, and to his delight he felt Mycroft pressing his hand gently.

'Many years ago, when I was only an adolescent, I feel in love. He was a teacher at the boarding school I went to, and I had been in love with him for about two years when I finally decided that I wanted to tell him how I felt. But I was not, as I still not am, very good at dealing with my emotions or how to express them, so I figured that the easiest why for me to do it was by writing him a letter, which I would give to him when I left the school at the end of my last year.'

The government official stopped and swallowed hard. Greg softly began to stroke the back of the other man's hand, and then said:

'But I assume that you never gave it to him.'

'No.' Mycroft stretched his neck and looked up at the ceiling, and then continued. 'I never really thought that I was going to do it, but then Sherlock came into play, and it became a fact that I never even would consider giving it to him.'

Greg noticed how his boyfriend said the words about his brother with deep bitterness, he almost spat them out.

'As you know, my brother is very good at finding other peoples' weaknesses, and even better of taking advantage of them and make one aware of them.' Mycroft made a snorting noise, almost as if he was at the edge of starting to laugh. 'He did not have to make much effort to find out that I was in love, and with a man, in the bargain. My dear brother was not more than about eleven years old when he figured it out. He talked with me about it, about me being weak and "like normal people". He was right; when I was in love I found it harder to concentrate on things that mattered, which was a huge disadvantage. But that was not the only problem. I went to a very strict and conservative school where homosexuality was considered to be one of the worst 'sins', and my brother understood what it would do to my education and reputation if it came out that I wrote letters declaring my love to a male teacher. My marks went down as well, which upset my parents very much, and after an argument I never spoke with my father again. Neither of my parents knows that I only take interest in men, and it would break my dear mother if she found out. Sherlock made me realize what things in life I should stick to, and what things that it would be for the best to just disregard. And I never fell in love with anyone else from that day. I did not have the time for it, and neither was I ready for it. Until I met you Gregory.'

The detective inspector met his boyfriend's gaze and kept stroking his hand. Greg decided it would be for the best to let Mycroft finish his story, because he could see in the way that the other man nervously licked his lips that there was more to be told.

'The only thing that Sherlock could not understand was how much this not only would come to affect me, but also him. And as you know Sherlock has not really trusted anyone, and much less expressed his feelings to any other human being. At least not until recently, when he finally seems to have learnt to do so, to some extent, thanks to Dr Watson.'

The other man nodded slowly as he listened, and then he said:

'Come over here.'

Greg gestured to Mycroft to sit down by him in the sofa, and his boyfriend did so. The politician smoothly sat down close to his boyfriend, and Greg put his right arm around the other man and pulled him close to his shoulder. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Greg slowly playing with the other man's hair, and Mycroft listening to the sound of his boyfriend breathing.

'The only thing that I can't understand, Myc, is why you've kept the letter all this time.'

'I suppose that I somewhere deep inside, wanted to be able to remind myself what love is, and not just think about it as a disadvantage.'

The detective inspector sharply inhaled, and couldn't help but feel very touched by these words. They way that Mycroft had said them had not been in a vulnerable way, he had spoken with the voice of someone who just had stated something most ordinary, like what the weather was like outside, or the colour of a piece of furniture.

'But I do not need the letter to remind me of love anymore, because I now think I know what love actually is. And every time I see you, talk with you, touch you, or even think of you, I am remembered of the meaning of love, and all it advantages and disadvantages.'

Greg put his left hand under his boyfriend's chin and lifted it up so he could kiss him.

'I love you, Mycroft.'

The government official met the other man's gaze and gave him a genuine smile.

'And I love you, Gregory. More than I ever will be able to comprehend, or explain.'


	15. Part II Never Have I Turned Since Then

**Chapter 12 – Part II – Never Have I Turned Since Then**

_There I was just in uniform_

_Looking at the art teacher_

_I was just a girl then_

_And never have I loved since then_

_He was not that much older than I was_

_He had taken our class to the Metropolitan Museum_

_He asked us what our favourite work of art was_

_But never could I tell him that it was him_

_- The Art Teacher, Rufus Wainwright_

_December 1987_

Mycroft stepped out of the train onto the platform as the snow fell slowly. In the dim light from the old lampposts he could see the familiar face of Mr Harris coming towards him. The other man was dressed in a black trench coat and a knitted scarf, which without any doubt was a gift from his wife. A few snowflakes had got caught in the lustreless grey hairs of his moustache, and his small almost shining eyes smiled towards Mycroft, like they always did. Most people smiled at him, with stiff, dishonest lips shaping ingratiating faces, but Mr Harris was one of the very few people who smiled at Mycroft with his whole face, and very genuinely so. Still, Mycroft could not help but to think that his face looked a bit more tired than the last time they had met. He could make out a few more wrinkles in the man's forehead, and above those noted the slight absence of some grey hair than there had been before. But he decided to drop the thought, and instead concentrate on the fact that it had been far too long since they had met. The Holmes family's servant, _face it Mycroft, that is what he is after all_, was one of Mycroft's few friends, and someone who the young man always had put his faith in. Since his early childhood he had always trusted the man with almost everything, and since Mr Harris had done the same, it had given Mycroft the feeling that they were equals, which probably was the reason to why Mycroft was so fond of him. His father on the other hand was not and often pointed out that Mr Harris was nothing more but a "simple servant".

'Mr Holmes! What a pleasure to see you again!'

'I am very happy to meet you too, Mr Harris.'

The young man smiled at the other man who came to meet him, and extended his hand towards him so he could shake it, but Turner took his briefcase in the right hand, and gave Mycroft a small hug with his left arm, which left the young man with slightly more red cheeks than before, but also with a nice comfortable feeling.

'I hope that you had a pleasant journey.'

'Oh, indeed. I am sorry that I have kept you waiting though, but you know what a bit of snow does to the trains' efficiency.'

'I do indeed, Mr Holmes! Besides, who could possibly be ill-tempered over a bit of waiting on a day like this, eh?'

Harris smiled again, and then gestured to Mycroft to accompany him towards the station building.

'It really is pleasure to see you again, Mr Harris.'

The words came out before Mycroft really had got the chance to stop it and therefore he felt suddenly ashamed, but when he was met by a warm, but slightly surprised, smile from the servant he relaxed and took a deep breath.

'Very well, sir, we might as well leave before we freeze to death out here. I have parked the car on the other side.'

They started to walk towards the station building at the same time as the train left the platform, leaving the cold, and soon snowy, track behind it.

The Rolls stopped at the driveway, and immediately Mr Harris jumped out and opened the door for Mycroft. It was still snowing, and the night was cold and still. The light that came from the Victorian manor that was the main part of the Holmes estate should have made Mycroft feel warm and welcome, but it did nothing than the contrary. He had spent the first years of his life, and later the holidays, in the great house in the countryside, but he had never enjoyed living or visiting what was supposed to be his home.

'Are you alright, sir?'

Mr. Harris smiled, once again, at Mycroft who stood on the steps of the house looking up at the hollow, bare windows. The young man shook his head and headed inside the door, which Harris held up for him.

As he had anticipated no-one welcomed him as he entered the hall. Mr Harris took his overcoat and hat, and then Mycroft headed towards is father's study. He had to walk through a long hallway until he came to one of the many stairs of the house, which he climbed up, to reach the study. He had decided to take up the matter of his catastrophic marks with his father as soon as possible to have the problem out of the world, but just as he was about to open the door to the study, Sherlock suddenly appeared by his side.

'Hello, Mycroft.'

The younger Holmes said his brother's name with contempt, and immediately Mycroft felt as if Sherlock tried to look down on him, even though he was at least three heads shorter than his brother.

'Oh, good evening, dear brother. I see that you have got a bit taller since I last saw you.'

Sherlock sniffed at him, but chose not to answer. The older of the two brothers lost interest in their "conversation" and was about to reach for the handle of the door to their father's study when Sherlock said:

'I wouldn't go in there if I were you, Mycroft.'

'Why not?'

Sherlock straightened himself, and put his hands behind his back, in the old sort of manner that he always did it. To accompany this, he also did his trademarked, snide, face expression, and answered with an even more condescending voice.

'Because he just had a row with someone on the phone. In fact he's been in a bad mood all day, as far as I can recall.'

Mycroft considered this for a moment; he did not want to upset their father before he had even started to explain about his marks, since he needed his father to be calm to even listen to him. But on the other hand, if Sherlock was lying, which after all was quite likely, their father would not be too impressed if Mycroft did not make their father aware of his arrival. After a few short moments of consideration, he made a decision.

'I will talk to him later, when we have dinner.'

He was not entirely sure why he had just told Sherlock what he was going to do, it was something he usually did not do, but on the other hand, he had done a lot of things lately that were slightly out of his character. The older Holmes brother turned on his heels and headed down the corridor towards his old bedroom, when Sherlock called after him.

'Have you made any new acquaintances this year then, Mycroft? Or are you still only socializing with the teachers?'

Mycroft ignored his brother, but got an uncomfortable feeling that Sherlock knew a bit more than Mycroft wanted him to. As soon as he had got inside his room he reached for the letter in the inner pocket of his suit jacket, only to check if it still were there. When he found that it was, he let out a big sigh as he leant against the tapestry clad wall. Mr Harris had already brought up his suitcase and placed it by the huge writing desk in front of the window. Mycroft opened the suitcase with the keys which he also kept in the inner pocket, and then he opened the other locks protected with number codes. Then he put the letter inside one of the many files within the briefcase and then he closed it again, careful to lock it properly. When he was done he shoved the suitcase under the four-poster bed and he exhaled once again. He took a few seconds to gather himself, trying to convince himself that no-one would find the letter, and then he opened up the grand wardrobe and started to search for a fitting evening dress.

'No elbows on the table Sherlock.'

"Mummy" Holmes looked at her son with a distressed look on her face, as she elegantly took some more of the turkey from the large plate next to her. She was a woman in her early fifties, with curly brown her, which her youngest song had inherited, and a predilection for large hairpins. Mrs Holmes looked quite young for her age except for the distinct wrinkles around the corners of her mouth, which she had acquired from all the thousands of times during her life that she had used her mouth to express irritation.

'Sorry, mummy.'

Sherlock did not look up from his barely touched plate – he rarely ate anything, but somehow the eleven year old still managed to grow faster, at least grow _taller_ faster, than Mycroft had done in his age, much to the younger brother's amusement.

'So, Mycroft, how are your studies going?'

It was the first thing, except for a cold greeting, that his mother had said to him since he had arrived at the Holmes manor, so Mycroft startled slightly in his seat when his mother asked the question. He did not mind it, but he was still surprised that no-one had really started a conversation until they had started their Christmas dinner. Usually his mother brought up problems as soon as possible, in that way mother and son was quite alike. Therefore Mycroft was surprised that his mother not had waited for him in the hall, ready to throw the question at him as soon as he had stepped inside the house. His father, who still had not showed up, would not have done the same; he would wait until Mycroft would start to discuss the matter himself.

'They are going quite well, I dare say.'

His mother nodded slowly, and then there was another long silence. Mycroft could see that his mother badly wanted to question his answer, but as usual, she would wait until her husband showed up. Instead of discussing the matter further she light up a little, she was almost smiling when she asked the next question.

'Have you met a nice girl yet, Mycroft?'

The older Holmes brother had to restrain himself from sighing, but his mother would not have noticed it anyway, since Sherlock suddenly giggled.

'I don't think you understand mummy, Mycroft is, how shall I put it… a friend of Dorothy's.'

Their mother lit up even more. She was a women who rarely took any interest in anything in life, but finding fitting wives for her two sons was on her list of things that she actually enjoyed doing. Sherlock had not yet been a subject of their mother's persevering questions about finding a "nice girl", as she always put it, but Mycroft had been for several years now.

'Dorothy? Have you finally found someone, Mycroft?'

'No, dear mother, Sherlock is just being silly.'

Mycroft gave his brother a look that would have made any other eleven year old cry, but since Sherlock was fairly just to the "stare of death", as the younger of the two brothers mockingly called it, and therefore just gave his brother a teasing smile.

'You see mummy, Mycroft is far too busy reading Forster and Wilde to actually talk with any girl at all.'

'That is enough, Sherlock.'

'Oh, he is far too busy with _other things_ to have time for _courting_ - he is spending all his Friday nights in Old Crompton Street anyway…'

'That is _enough_, Sherlock!'

The older Holmes brother could feel every single muscle in his body tense. He had suspected that Sherlock knew about his disinterest in women, but he had never imagined that Sherlock would so mean that he would tell any of his parents about it. Their mother would not be able to accept it, and their father would just despise him even more than he already did. It would be the end of the little love that still existed in the Holmes family. But luckily enough it seemed like their mother had not understood Sherlock's hints; she just seemed a bit disappointed.

'That is a shame, Mycroft. I was hoping that you would have found anyone by now. It is not that difficult, dear, there are many respectable, intelligent women out there with suitable backgrounds and families.'

'Oh, don't worry about mummy; I am more than certain of that Mycroft will find himself a little queen someday.'

'Sherlock, sto-'

Suddenly the doors to the dining room flew open, and Mr Holmes the elder entered the room. He sat down at his usual place at the end of the massive mahogany table, and started to grab various types of food from around the table, however not as gracefully as his wife had done. He was a tall, robust man with distinctive cheekbones, and a nose and hairline very similar to Mycroft's. As usual, he was wearing a pinstripe suit with a matching ascot tie. Just like his wife he looked younger than he was, but the hardness in the features of his face that gave him a permanent infuriating look, which matched his personality and constant state of mind very well.

'Good evening father.'

Mycroft did not receive a response, so he decided to do a second attempt at starting a conversation.

'I did not want to disturb you earlier when I arrived so I-'

'Never mind that Mycroft!'

'Oh, but father I can explain!'

Mycroft put down the knife and fork he had been eating with by the sides of his plate, and prepared himself for the conversation that was about to start.

'I sure hope you can, Mycroft. Do tell me how you have managed to get such bad marks! We pay _a lot _of money for you to have a first class education, and you dare to just strut in here and act like nothing is out of order. Do you think you can just come over here, to our house, and pretend that everything is fine?'

Mycroft's father looked as if smoke where to come out of his ears and nostrils at any second, and he shouted at his son with a voice of anger that not even Mycroft had heard before.

'I am one of the top twenty students in my year…' Mycroft tried, but stopped when he saw that his father was at the edge of exploding.

'But last year you _were _the top student, Mycroft. What has happened to you? What is this sudden laziness? Maybe you should take more courses in the afternoons to imp-'

'But I rarely do anything else than attend extra courses in the afternoons already!'

'Do _not_ interrupt me young man!'

Mycroft uncomfortably shifted in his seat and tried his best to not look weak, but like every time he had a row with his father, he felt like a small, smashed ant under his father's boot rather than his son and his equal, which he incredibly enough actually was.

"The only mark that you have managed to improve is art, Mycroft. _Art_!The most useless subject of them all. Why are you even studying that? You should be focused on studying economy and other important subjects! Remember, one day you will be the one who is the head of the Holmes Estate, and if you do-'

'But I do not want to take over the firm after you, father!'

Everyone around the table became silent. Mycroft's mother looked as if she was about to start crying at any second, and she nervously fiddled with her napkin. Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself a lot, and followed the conversation eagerly. Their father was silent, like everyone else, looking at his oldest son, dearly hoping that he had misheard him.

'I have other plans. Sherlock can take over it. I do not care about it father.'

'Get out.'

Mycroft could barely hear what his father had said; it was not even a whisper. But he did not need to say it again, for Mycroft was out of the room within just a few seconds. He almost ran all the way to his room, and did not stop until he had closed the door behind him. He slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, and started to cry silently.

After what seemed to be an eternity, but probably was something more like half an hour or so, Mycroft could hear someone entering the room, and when he looked up his saw his younger brother standing in the doorway.

'Leave me alone Sherlock.'

To be honest Mycroft was surprised to see him there; he was not surprised that Sherlock had managed to open up the locked door, but over the fact that Sherlock would want to come and see him after what had happened.

'Oh, don't say that. I think I've got something that might interest you. And I think you're interested in what I have to say as well.'

Mycroft felt as his heart turned into stone as Sherlock pulled a familiar letter out of the back pocket of his trousers.

'I was right then. Maybe you _are_ spending a bit too much time with the teachers. Or well, at least one of them. This Graham chap seems like a nice bloke, oh, except for one thing – that, well, he's a teacher. And that he's a _man_, of course."

Sherlock walked towards Mycroft and stopped in front of his brother. Their eyes met, and at about the same level, since Mycroft was still sitting on the side of the bed.

'Give it back to me Sherlock. It does not concern you.'

'But you see it does.' Sherlock's voice was suddenly deadly serious and he took another step closer to his brother. 'You've upset father, and even though you'll soon leave again and won't have to deal with his grumpiness and anger, I will still be here and forced to do so. He hasn't got anyone to take over the firm, since he knows that I never would do it either. Therefore I've come to talk some sense into you.'

Sherlock made a dramatic pause, and waited for some kind of reaction from his brother, but when it did not come, he continued.

'Can't you see what this whole being in love thing does to you Mycroft? It brings your marks down, except for the art one, and you're not able to focus on the rest of your studies.'

The younger Holmes brother sat down next to his brother, and gave him a queer look as he did so.

'Don't become like normal people - vulnerable because they acquire unnecessary disadvantages. I don't want you to be like one of _them_, because then I would be the only one left.'

Sherlock paused once again, and when he spoke again there actually was some genuine concern in his voice, the mocking tone that had been there barely a minute ago completely gone.

'You've always told me to stay focused on what matters, but now _you _are doing the exact opposite.'

Mycroft considered very thoroughly what his brother just had said. For once Sherlock was patient and waited for his brother to come to terms with the facts he had presented to him.

'You are right, Sherlock.'

The younger of the brother started to smile smugly, but Mycroft continued.

'Stop smiling so much, because I will never say that again. Thank you though. It is just that I have been so confused by my feelings for this man lately. You cannot imagine what it feels like to constantly be restrained by what I assume is love. And yes, you _are_ right, Sherlock; there are far more important matters to concentrate on rather than simple pleasures.'

Mycroft patted Sherlock on his shoulder as the young man stood up in front of him. Sherlock nodded slowly and then gave his brother the letter.

'You will not tell them about this, will you, Sherlock?'

'No, of course not. At least not since you've actually admitted that I was right about something. Well, we both know that I am always right about everything, but it was nice to hear it from you for a change.'

Sherlock smiled annoyingly again, showing his some of his usual childishness, and headed towards the door. Even though neither one of the brothers would admit it out loud, they did care for each other. Mycroft was usually the one who had to protect his brother, but Sherlock actually took great pride in doing the same for his brother the rare occasions he did. Just as the younger Holmes brother was about to turn around the door handle on his way out of the room, he turned around and looked at his brother with questioning eyes.

'Just one thing, Mycroft…' Sherlock hesitated, and frowned a little but then he continued: 'How does it feel to be in love?'

The older brother took a deep breath and smiled sadly.

'You cannot control your feelings or emotions. This does not only happen when the person is around, but even when you are alone with no-one else around. You cannot understand your thoughts, and all logic and reason disappears from your mind. It is the most terrible and confusing thing that you could ever experience. And the worst thing is that you actually _enjoy_ it.'


End file.
